The Highest Price
by Blonde Pickle Mule
Summary: "They hadn't realised how much he held them together until he was gone." It is a smaller group that returns from the Isle of the Blessed.


**Oh my word...I watched 4x02 (The Darkest Hour part 2), and I spent the whole time announcing to my family that if Merlin, Arthur or one of the knights died then I was going to kill someone. As the Calix, or however you spell her name, told Merlin it wasn't his destiny to leave this earth, I got a sinking feeling in my stomach.  
>Sure enough, Lancelot then proceeded to walk into his own death. I <em>sobbed. <em>Literally, I sat on my sofa and I cried for about half an hour, because although I love all the knights to peices, Lancelot and Gwaine were always my favourites. Now I feel like a depressed wreck. Curse you for making me cry already, Merlin writers, and we're only two episodes in. :(**

**Disclaimers: I do not own Merlin or any of its characters (though if I did that'd be awesome).**

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><p><em>Nobler than any Lord, <em>

_The fairest of the fair,_

_Sir Lancelot, he took the path, _

_No other man would dare._

Merlin was numb the entire way back to Camelot. He sat ram-rod straight on the back of his horse, blue eyes blank and unseeing as the grieving group travelled through the undergrowth. Nobody spoke, and even Gwaine had nothing to say. They hadn't realised how much Lancelot held them together until he was gone.

It was all his fault. Lancelot was supposed to be here next to him, supposed to be laughing and joking and giving him knowing looks that nobody else would understand. But he wasn't, because he was gone. Merlin shivered, squeezing his eyes tight shut against the hurt.

It was more than just a friend that he'd lost; it was a brother. In all the time he'd known Lancelot the knight had been the most loyal of friends, the bravest and most courageous man Merlin had ever met. He'd accepted him, protected him...protected them all. He was one of the only people who knew what Merlin was, and now the warlock felt more alone than ever.

Not for the first time, Merlin almost wished he'd let Morgana die. If he had, the veil would never have been broken.

_For Camelot, his kingdom,_

_He gave a price so high,_

_To repair the veil between the worlds,_

_Sir Lancelot, he died._

It seemed burned into his mind, that final image of him, bathed in light from beyond the veil. Merlin could see his dark, sad eyes, the slow smile that crept over his face as he held his arms wide. He could see the veil almost embracing him, sucking him in. He could hear his own frantic protests, the thin skin of the worlds snapping shut, and then he was gone.

Merlin breathed sharply in, turning over to face the wall of his narrow bedroom. He was having another sleepless night, plagued by the memories of his friend's final moments. In some ways it was just so _hard _to believe he was actually gone. There was no body, there hadn't been any violence, and he'd just _walked _away. Merlin kept expecting him to walk through the door now with that steady smile, and then everything would be as it always had. How could someone be there one moment and then just be _dead_?

Dead...Lancelot just couldn't be dead.

_His courage, compassion,_

_His unselfish heart,_

_The Knight of Knights! the people cried,_

_From lesser men he stood apart. _

Somehow, this made it final. Merlin walked beside Arthur, the sky fittingly miserable and dark. In his hands he held a burning torch, the flames licking and dancing against each other. In the Prince's hands Arthur cradled Lancelot's cloak and sword, the last remaining pieces of one of the best men Merlin knew.

He turned his attention away, guilt threatening to swallow him again. Over the last few days he'd been given time to think, and in those few days all he'd been able to conclude was that it was his fault. Why hadn't be stopped Lancelot, pulled him out of the way, used magic to knock him back? He was meant to be the most powerful sorcerer of all time, according to destiny, and yet he didn't seem to be able to save anyone.

Lancelot, his father, Will, Freya...

Numbly he passed Arthur the torch, watching as the Prince's face crumpled. There was a hole in their circle of knights now, one that nobody would ever be able to fill. As the bonfire sprung up to life in front of his eyes, a few tears made their way down his cheeks. In the face of such loss, Merlin felt no shame.

_And though his life cut cruelly short,_

_Thousands of lives were saved,_

_Farewell then O' Sir Lancelot,_

_The bravest of the brave._

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><p><strong>The poem is, in fact, my own. I hope it's not too bad :3 Now I'm going to go be depressed some more, while at the same time look eagerly forward to next week and the return of "Dragoon the Great".<strong>


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